Caught Between Castles
by parodyham
Summary: In every war there are multiple sides; the Great Darigan Wars were no exception. After an unfortunate run-in with dark magic, a Kass general named Setarian learns that things are far more complex than his lord cares to admit... Long series, 12 chapters. Will update semi-frequently.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Apologies if chapter one is a little exposition-y. The chapters following this one are [i]much[/i] less so. In the future, I'll be editing over the first chapter again to make it more dynamic. Either way, I sincerely hope you enjoy the story!

* * *

Whirlwinds of dust circled about Darigan Citadel, Neopia's most impenetrable flying fortress. From a turret top window, a single candle glistened like a charm. The semi-darkness nearly obscured the hardened face of Lord Kass, Eyrie ruler of the fortress for a short fifteen months. He surveyed towering plumes of smoke billowing from farm villages below with interest, as if watching some sort of a play.

The longest war ever known in the citadel's history had finished three years prior. Since then, apparent peace had been made between the warring factions, Darigan Citadel and the far away kingdom of Meridell. Perhaps their peace treaty denied Kass the ability to attack the city, but much to Kass' delight, Skarl did little to protect the outlying villages.

Ever since the previous leader, Lord Darigan, had vanished, the Citadel had been in chaos. That is, until Lord Kass came into power through less than honest means. Any internal threats who dare to speak against him were often removed by, in his words, "releasing" them from the Citadel. Permanently.

Civil uprisings occurred, but rarely if ever did they succeed. Once, a disgruntled Tonu demanded that Kass seek true peace with the medieval society below while he addressed the peasants at a rally. If nothing else, she claimed, trade relations would improve and more youth would survive the citadel's harsh winters. Some say they can still hear her howls in the dungeons each night, cursing the name of the one who locked her there.

Even from far away, the lord seemed to exude a dark aura. Some swore that he had eyes in the back of his head. With deep purple fur, pointed claws, demon-like wings, and a sharp, calculative mind, it was no wonder the outside world feared him. Gold and black armor adorned him and the shape of a purple Eyrie projected from his spiked shoulder pads. A leather belt fit snugly around his waist. Occasionally, his armor would give off a greenish glow. Lord Kass dispelled rumors that he was using dark magic, and claimed the glowing to be tricks of the eye. He would smile, according to his generals, each time another burden had been disposed. He often smiled.

While it had been some time since the Great War, Kass encouraged his citizens to despise the landlocked world below. Meetings were held in public detailing the injustices that had befallen the Darigan people in years before. He claimed, and who could deny, that Meridellians lived lives of ease while they struggled by with meager rations of dried spike-fruit and pickled Kasscumbers (a vegetable hardy and reliable enough that he named as the savior of the Darigan people). It did not take long before nearly all of the citizens had a hunger for revenge. Their anger to destroy Meridell's over-fed orb-stealing king rose to a near fever pitch only months after Kass took total control of the citadel. The frequency of anti-Meridell displays only increased as time went by; it was only a matter of time before their anger would manifest as further conflict. And none believed this more than Kass' loyal army, a mass of Darigans headed by five like-minded generals. The most infamous of these was General Setarian.

Setarian had been known as the youngest general ever appointed in the citadel's thousand-year history. After his military prowess in the Great War, Kass granted him the honor of leading around a third of his troops. Sporting decorative mauve robes beneath metal mail, the medium-sized purple-furred Eyrie stood out from his fellow Darigans. With eyes the color of a winter sky—an icy blue that penetrated through the very being of anyone he would converse with—it is no wonder he would garner such attention. Within the fortress, no other Neopian had such eyes. In fact, no one could recall a single citizen who had such a trait in recent memory.

General Setarian spoke little, but when he did, it almost always referred to either military duties or Lord Kass. His troops become accustomed to being called minions or sub-ordinates, as Setarian hardly referred to them by name. If he did, it was accompanied by a sneer. Lord Kass constantly gave the General praise, often calling him "a most reliable blade." After a while, Setarian demanded his underlings to refer to him as "Commander," a title previously unheard of during Lord Darigan's reign. Kass granted Setarian's title, but emphasized that he remained a tool to be used only in the name of the Kass' regime—that he was nothing without a great ruler. Setarian wholeheartedly agreed.

With the outer fringes of Meridell quickly becoming a smoldering pile of ash at the hands of Kass' army, it seemed as if the Lord would soon rule over all of the land. Once all of the surrounding area was compromised and any farms unable to provide, the capital city of Meridell would eventually become crippled. Anything not destroyed would soon be his, including King Skarl's throne. Moreover, no Meridell troops stood in his way thus far. It appeared the Meridellian army truly believed in Kass' so-called truce. If all went as planned, Setarian would receive laud and a place of honor in his new world. If not, well, such thoughts rarely crossed the Lord's mind.

_Such a talented tool he is_, thought Kass. _I was right to keep him alive all of those years ago… _Letting out a laugh, he walked back into the fortress, shutting a wooden door with a loud _**ka-thunk**_.

_Nothing can possibly go wrong_...

Below the Citadel's towering island, a group of Kass' army was crusading through the outskirts of Meridell farmsteads. While a lady colonel known as Malaner kept watch in the distance, Setarian led the troops on to cause misery for the farmers. On his order, they slashed and burned anything in sight. An eerie glow could be seen from a distance where large fires consumed fields of grain, corn, and giant marrow plants. Villagers not attempting to put out the flames were fleeing towards the enemy stronghold, the city of Meridell. Setarian enjoyed fighting the resistance, if any, as they came along. A skilled warrior as he was, none of their wooden gardening tools and crude skills could match up to his steel sword and shield. Sure, the occasionally skilled peasant would confront them. They made the best prisoners.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. A small grove pine trees clustered together amidst otherwise charred fields. An alluring scent wafted through the air and danced in the Eyrie's nostrils, reminiscent of strong Meridellian perfume. Setarian tilted his head to the side.

_That's rather odd_. _I could have sworn we would have destroyed a potential hide-away like that._ He snorted, feeling somewhat lightheaded. _Well, if anyone is foolish enough to reside within this thicket, they will learn that no place is safe from my Lord Kass_' _eye_.

A group of Skeiths had stopped to stare at the General's sudden fascination with green trees. Some of them began to chuckle.

The Eyrie's head whipped back towards them, eyes narrowed. "Continue on, minions! I have business to attend to."

With a collective grumble, they marched forward. The sound of harsh whispers slowly melded into the wind as they traveled into the distance.

"Tch," muttered Setarian, a scowl spreading across his face. i_I shall punish you all later_…/i

Pulling back the spiny branches, the General began weaseling through the thicket; needles embedded in his thick black mane. In retaliation, the greenery soon lay upon the ground in a heap of thorns, thistles, and vines. Massaging his stinging hands, the General hardly noticed a hooded figure standing in the clearing.

"Show yourself!" The Eyrie bellowed, placing one paw against the hilt of his sword.

It remained still.

"Are you the bully they call 'Setarian?'" Its voice was almost indistinguishable from the low howls of the wind. Some sort of object glistened from beneath its robes. It was making a low humming sound akin to the types of machinery that kept the Citadel airborne.

"Tch. No commoner may speak to a military commander in such a crude manner, especially one of an enemy nation. Perhaps you seek retribution for your insolence within our prison walls?"

The figure remained silent, gingerly removing its green cloth hood. A small yellow beak shimmered in the moonlight as light pink fur brushed against the falling cloak.

Much to Setarian's surprise, the individual appeared to be no more than a youthful Bruce, perhaps one of only a few years of age. Normally, enemies of such stature would shake in his presence, but this one seemed remarkably calm. Before Setarian had the chance to utter another word, the Bruce inched closer, all the while keeping his hands hidden. A chugging sound could be heard from where his hands rest. Setarian stepped back, slowly drawing his blade from its jeweled sheath. Although the sword remained closely gripped to his angled body, it pointed towards the youth's heart.

"Identify yourself!" the Eyrie shouted. Whatever creatures had been finding solace within the isolated trees skittered away, making all sorts of startled shrieks. The Bruce stopped momentarily, but continued to plod closer with the same cautious stride.

"You are a bully," responded the youth. He placed a strained emphasis on the word 'bully.' Then, for the first time, there was a slight hesitation in the Bruce's voice. "I've heard of you from some of the villagers as well as from my… friends." At the very moment, Setarian noticed the child's face contort ever so slightly before returning to the unemotional youth he saw before. "They told me that you and your army burned down their farms and made them very sad!"

Setarian merely chuckled under his breath. A mist escaped from his mouth in the evening air. "Do you think I care, little pest?" He continued with a grunt, spitting upon the grass. He then looked around, making sure no other Darigans were in earshot. "Look, child. You may be from Meridell, but it seems almost wrong to clip a bud so young. Perhaps, if I let you go, you could talk some sense into your dishonorable people." Shimmering orbs looked impassively upon the enemy. "You have two choices: either flee now with your body intact or I will destroy you." With some hesitation, he added, "you will not get another chance."

The Bruce shook his head, his webbed feet planted firmly on the ground. Setarian watched the Bruce's flipper disappear into the recesses of his cloak. When it resurfaced, he was holding a sort of strange, humming contraption. It appeared to be wooden, but reeked of some sort of strong perfume. Darkened tendrils manifested from the gadget as it spun; a menacing aura filled the area.

"Before you ask," the Bruce muttered, cradling the object as if a Petpet, "this was given to me from the faerie I call 'master.' All they said was 'have fun' and sent me off to find you." He grinned evilly at Setarian, who snorted at his mention of the faeries. A muted green light illuminated the Bruce's face from below. "Wanna to play a game, bully? Either way, I win."

Setarian had been told stories of the faeries and their magical abilities in the past, but paid little attention to them. _They were probably just old tales used to scare children_, he sometimes thought, never imagining that he might be face to face with the darker side of its magic.

The two of them continued to stand still in a stalemate. Setarian eyes flitted between the item and the Bruce, waiting for him to make a move. The Eyrie gripped his sword's hilt tighter and waited for the right moment to leap into action. With every breath, his pulse quickened and blood pumped heavily against his gripping claw.

"You give me no choice," the Eyrie choked on his words, recoiling slightly. If there was anything he could remember about faerie magic, it was that it was dangerous. _Lethal_, even. But looking like a fool in front of a youth was not an option either. "Remember this: if you chose to repent, you could have been spared!"

After a few seconds of silence, Setarian still had not taken the initiative to move. The Bruce cackled, turning his beak up to smile. "Silly bully. When you met me, your choice was already made."

Setarian leapt forward. He charged towards the youth, blade swung back and ready to strike a decisive blow. His blade was only inches away from the target's neck when a bright, rainbow colored beam fired from the contraption. In an effort to shield his eyes from the blast, Setarian recoiled as a sudden rush of energy hit his body. A searing pain shot through his arm and spread like an uncontrolled blaze. Setarian's knees buckled before he collapsed. His claws tore at the ground, ripping out tufts of grass. The fire only continued to burn. It felt as if every cell was rebelling.

For the first time in his life, he begged for forgiveness. Screams of agony echoed throughout the seemingly endless countryside, all of which addressed his lord and leader, Kass; his heart pounded like a bass drum against the cool grass.

In his last moments of consciousness, the Bruce's blurry form danced above in the cool night air.

"You asked who I am? Some call me trouble, others "my special pawn," but the ones who know me best call me 'Boochi...'"


	2. Chapter 2

Setarian awoke with a start. Try as he might, all he could see in front of him were little white specks, likely an effect from whatever happened before. He patted the ground, trying to get a feel for his surroundings. From what he could tell, especially after giving it a good knock or two, the ground was made out of wood. Reaching forward, he felt something cold—probably made of metal—and cylindrical in shape. The tip of his bushy, lion-like tail brushed against a similar barrier. A few pats against his fur revealed neither sword nor armor.

_I'm in a prison, but where? _His thoughts danced like the specks fizzling through his vision. There was no point keeping his eyes open; he attempted to move about without sight. _Who knows where they are storing my gear. It was probably sold to the highest bidder. _His right paw dug through a layer of soft fur._ Argh, __how could I have been so stupid? Kass will have my head if he learns of my failure!_ He groaned, imagining the sort of punishment he might receive if he made it out of this situation alive. _Now that the enemy has captured me, they will surely use me as a hostage in an attempt to weaken our Citadel even further_. Besides his stumbling about, it was silent, which haunted his thoughts even more. Images of torture flashed in succession like that of a play: meticulous, precise, and worst of all, in the public eye.

_Perhaps it would be better if they just disposed of me now… _Even blinded, General Setarian could feel droplets of what he presumed to be sweat trickling down his face.

_And yet…_For an inkling of a second, he imagined Kass sacrificing everything to save his "most reliable blade." A wave of relief washed over him, quickly replaced by guilt and sorrow. He scrunched his right paw, pounding it to the ground with a decisive _thud_. Grooved wooden boards dug into his skin, making it sting below thin layers of fur.

_Maybe I can escape on my own_.

He began to scramble, trying to feel out an escape route. Suddenly, he felt a spray of liquid lap over one of his paws. A loud splashcould be heard across the room.

"Ugh," he muttered in a high, squeaky voice that resembled the incessant meowing of "Scruffles," a Darigan Angelpuss that frequented the Lord's chambers. Coughing, he continued mumbling to himself while massaging both ears. They perked up, closely honing in on any sound that would come next. "Don't tell me that pipsqueak destroyed my voice as well as my dignity!"

The General froze.

_So I wasn't just imaging things. My voice really is higher_…

Quick, sharp breaths burned his lungs.

_I just have to regain my composure_, his normal, deeper voice assured him. _Everything is going to be fine. And o__nce I am out of this mess_ _that accursed Bruce shall pay dearly_.

His eyes cracked open. This time, he could make our blurry blotches, such as what appeared to be a small, compact prison and a bowl of something that smelt remarkably like the clear soup fed only to dungeon prisoners. At first glance, no weapons could be seen. In fact, the walls only held faded scrolls with poorly drawn scribbles. A single wilted rose drooped over a crayon drawn picture of what appeared to be a house and some stick figures.

Eventually, most of the bowl's contents came into foggy view. His paw crept towards the container while his stomach grumbled at the sight. After a minute of hovering over the concoction, his paw darted back. Green blotched potatoes floated atop the brew. He stared at the bowl for many minutes, unaware that a door opened only feet from his prison.

"You awake?" someone asked. When there was no response, he added, "hey, you feeling alright?"

He jumped back. _Doesn't this fool realize who I am? Why does he treat me like some sort of guest? _Ignoring his hunger pains, he swatted the bowl away, causing its contents to spill all over the floor. _It must be poison_, he decided with a low growl.

Out of the corner of his eye, Setarian spotted a bony blue-gray Lupe with an unkempt white mustache that stretched as far as his thin neck. His big, round eyes seem to sag, adding even more wrinkles to an aged, worn face. A straw hat lined his head and complemented yellow corduroys that seem to droop over his bony flesh.

"You sure gave me a scare!" the Lupe said with a half smile, bending down to meet Setarian.

The General's eyes bulged as he lifted both paws in a defensive pose, ready to spar with this new threat. Whatever escape plans had been forged were replaced by survival instinct. Unnervingly, the stranger seemed unfazed. A grin—for some reason or another—had spread across the Lupe's face, unsettling the General even more.

"Aw… calm down. It's gonna be alright."

_Calm down?!_ he thought. _Are you insane?_

"I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it or not! Seems you got hurt by something out there and fainted! It's the strangest thing, really. Seeing a little guy like you collapsed in the middle of a field. You know, I remember a time when..."

Setarian studied the Lupe's sunken face as he continued to banter on about insignificant topics. He looked to be reasonably old, probably senile. On closer inspection, he had a bunch of straw caught within his scruffy tail. A small doll resembling a green Xweetok flopped back and forth in his front suspender pocket. Given the fraying and tufts of stuffing coming out of the doll's head and paws, it looked like it was played with to near dismemberment.

Definitely senile.

In between his musing, he hardly noticed that the ground seemed to be getting further and further away.

Only when he could feel a small breeze pass by his stomach did he let out a small yelp.

"What in Kass' name—"

He felt himself being lifted higher into the air. After a moment of shock, he began to flail wildly, desperately picking at his side in an attempt to grab an invisible sword.

"Now, now, little guy. "There's no need to be frightened. I ain't gonna hurt you." The Lupe placed one paw upon the Eyrie's head and patted it.

Setarian's blood boiled.

"Little?! Stop treating me like a child!" the General shouted in a fury. "Either you let go of me this instant or I shall charge you for assault, lock you away in the dungeons, and make sure you never see the light of day again!"

The Lupe's brow furrowed slightly as he lowered the glaring Eyrie to his eye level. Setarian's eyes widened, mind racing as to how a Lupe could possibly be so tall. Although a tad smaller than the average Darigan Eyrie, he still towered over a majority of Skeiths and Cybunnies. Occasionally, a Jubjub or two would join his ranks. Setarian height nearly doubled theirs.

"Uh huh," The Lupe rolled his eyes, keeping his tone relatively low. "Okay, partner. Someone's been playing army just a little too much—"

"How dare you, a senile old fool, refer to me in such a manner! 'Partner?' Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?"

Rarely did Setarian lose his composure, but this was an exception. He punted the Lupe in the gut and landed on the floor with an earsplitting thud. In the process, a vase containing red flowers tipped over from a nearby wooden stool; its shards scattered all across the floor. Setarian's entire body stung from the impact. Paws shaking, he pondered how it was possible for him to fall from such a height. No explanation seemed logical. Moreover, even with his eyes working again—for the most part anyway—neither his sword nor his armor could be found.

Meanwhile, the old farmer had been standing above, doubling over in pain.

"Serves you right," Setarian muttered.

Setarian began to explore the abnormally large home, eventually trotting past a cracked, dusty mirror. After a superficial glance towards the smooth, reflective surface, and his breath caught as if trapped. The face staring back at him was not his, but that of a youthful Eyrie. He backed up slowly from the mirror, eying the reflection that followed his every moment. Assorted objects collapsed around him, including a wet mop, which splashed dirty water in his face.

_This is a trick. It has to be a trick._

Soft, light grey fur covered his body where a regal purple coat once grew. Small, useless wings took the place of his once long, graceful ones. The only thing recognizable about the old him were bright, icy blue eyes that stared back at him in horror across the cracked surface.

"That glowing contraption must have done this," he mouthed silently. "I look like a child…" The Eyrie took in small, painful breaths as his legs wobbled from beneath him. Setarian hardly noticed the Lupe pick him up a second time.

_What do I do now?  
_  
The Lupe wore an irritated frown, scolding him on proper treatment of his elders. It wasn't like Setarian cared, though.

_How was I so careless? Why in Kass' name didn't I just smite the child? Must I pay for my stupidity in such a way? _His eyes darted about the room looking for anything he could use to defend himself, find the army, and somehow reverse this vile curse.

"Now, look here," asserted the Lupe while placing him in a Petpet pen. "You can't be kicking Neopians all willy-nilly. That just ain't nice. You're in a time-out, little guy." The farmer turned towards the broken shards and floundering flowers that Setarian had knocked to the ground in the confusion before. A bent blossom began to perk up when placed within a rosy colored clay vase, although his arms shook so much that the flower almost missed its watery home. "It's a good thing these flowers are so hardy," he muttered under a low sigh. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go get something to calm my nerves." The Lupe walked into another room, tail dragging along the floor.

"Actually," Setarian began as the farmer disappeared from view, "I do mind. Release me at once!"

There was no response.

Setarian attempted to escape from his prison using a mixture of shouts, battering into the cage and attempting to pick the lock, but it refused to budge. After trying for over twenty minutes to escape without even the slightest reaction from the Lupe, he fell over to one side, right paw covering his face. Heavy breathing disturbed some of dust on the floor, leading to his fur getting coated in a thin layer of gray powder. At last he remained still, quiet sputtering gasps escaping from his little body.

Before things had quieted down, the Lupe entered into a dimly lit room. A small fire was crackling in the hearth. Steam poured out of a blackened kettle's spigot placed only centimeters from the flames. He removed a set of tea cups from a cupboard, slowly pouring water into three of them. A thick layer of steam still rose from the kettle, stinging his eyes.

A layer of fine dust covered the wooden dining room table. A few circular outlines could be seen where plates and cups had been placed in the past. When a cup, plate, and utensils had been placed at each spot, the Lupe sat down, glazed eyes gazing at the muddled reflection in the rippling tea. Two cups of cooling tea were his only company. A purple and black box marked with the words "Food Quota" lay in the corner of the room. On it, a list labeled with the phrase 'or face the consequences' dangled loosely from a nail. Filled almost to the brim with produce, it looked as if it could have been part of a great feast.

He sighed deeply, glancing back at the Eyrie who had since curled into a ball. Gingerly, he removed the doll that was hiding in his pocket. The doll's worn face and misting marble eyed stared up at him. On the doll's dress, the letters E-M-M-A were stitched by fading pink thread.

Muffled sniffles carried through the room as he tucked the doll away. The cups of tea rest on the table; puffs of steam still rose from two of them.

"Hey, I got a question for you," the Lupe said to Setarian, slowly making his way towards the imprisoned general.

Setarian perked up his ears, but refused to lift his head.

"What do _you_ want?" he hissed, paws balling into fists.

"W-well," stuttered the Lupe, who found his fingers twisting around strands of his wispy hair. "I was thinking, if you had no place else to go... would you wanna stay here?"

Of course, Setarian had absolutely no intention of staying within an enemy's homestead. Without a second thought, he responded with a huff and a turn of the head.

"Them Darigans," the Lupe blurted suddenly, "takin' joy in our misery. That Lord Kass and _General Setaria_nare especially awful. Such an evil bunch. Destroying the lives of innocent Neopians when we did nothing but provide food for their accursed army—even after the war!" He shook his head angrily, teeth bared and eyes glimmering ever so slightly.

Bolting up, Setarian eyed the Lupe with contempt. The farmer stepped one leg back; his tattered ears lowered.

_Me, evil? How am I the evil one? These accursed Meridellians robbed my people of the orb that brought prosperity to our land and drove our previous lord into insanity_!

Based on Setarian's personal experience and the ever-honest words of Lord Kass, no Meridellian was innocent. Each and everyone one aimed to cause pain and suffering for the Darigan nation. According to him, Meridellians not directly involved with the war acted as spies and informants. As Setarian's ruler, it would be treason to question Kass' judgment. Thus, it had to be fact.

It was bad enough that Setarian was being quartered in an enemy stronghold; worse yet, he was ensnared within a trap, unable to escape. Letting out a sigh, he attempted to stand on his back legs. As he did, they wobbled violently until, with some effort, he managed to balance one paw on top of another. By then, his features had relaxed. Training dictated that it was wrong to show weakness to the enemy, especially one of such a pitiful rank. Besides, emotional torture is the most efficient way to force compliance.

"Let me out of this cage," he demanded, placing a paw against the prison bars. His precarious position and the surprisingly slippery surface of the bars sent him crashing downwards to the wooden floor.

_So much for being intimidating_...

The farmer shook his head. He then unlatched the pen and opened the top. "You certainly are a vocal little fellow." He placed the tea on a nearby table. Reaching in towards Setarian, the Lupe moved backwards to avoid the incoming paws.

"I can get out myself."

"Can you now?" the Lupe's eyebrow rose.

"I can and I will."

"Sheesh. You act just like Thomas used to back when he was a youngster. Always trying to do daring..." he trailed off, voice quieting to a whisper. "... Daring and unnecessary stunts."

Instead of listening to the farmer's blathering, Setarian bent his back legs and sprang up, flapping his small wings as hard as he could to propel himself forward. He nearly cleared the cage, but his foot caught along the top, sending the Eyrie's head and shoulders skidding across the floor. Rubbing his paw against a sore spot, he could see a stain of red covering his white fur.

_Bah_, he thought, suddenly feeling achy. _Can nothing go my way?_ He attempted to walk, only to feel pain shoot through his body. He collapsed to the ground.

Before Setarian could stop him, the Lupe had dashed to and from a supply closet with bandages, ointment and a large red fruit of some kind. Even though Setarian protested vehemently, the farmer continued to help. He held Setarian steady with one paw as his other paw wrapped bandages around the Eyrie's front arms and forehead.

"What am I gonna do with you?" The farmer laughed, finishing up his handiwork. The second he let go of Setarian, the Eyrie bolted away and backed into a corner. His fur bristled on end as he hissed in defiance.

"You will do no more," stated Setarian coolly. The pain may have subsided, but he still felt weak.

"And why's that, little fellow?" Both of the Lupe's paws rested snugly on his sides.

"Why? What if I told you I was a member of Lord Kass' army? The very same army that spares peasants like you—occasionally, anyway—to sustain our troops?" The Lupe froze up, his face unreadable. "Would you be… angry?"

"What did you say?" The Lupe responded airily, staring off into the distance; his paws slid up towards the doll nestled within his pocket and rested upon it.

"It is just as I said, peasant," Setarian spat. "Or do your ears work as poorly as your brain?"

Their eyes locked. It looked as if the old farmer's eyes were silently pleading the Eyrie to take back his words. He would never. There was no use lying to such a pitiful soul about his identity.

"You aren't one, are you? A Darigan?"

"Yes, I am." Setarian smiled weakly, brushing wet fur away from his face. Even in his current state, he could almost feel a surge of pride rising up from within his gut. "Like the rest of your kind, I'm sure you hate me now."

The Lupe averted his eyes and turned his back away from the Eyrie before haphazardly throwing the red fruit nestled within his paws onto the ground. Setarian eyed the Lupe suspiciously, unsure of how to react.

"I think it best fer the both of us if you go then." Drops of water pattered to the ground. "You can keep that fruit, if only as a way to remember the kindness of my kinfolk. It was… It was Emma's favorite."

Setarian bowed his head and shuffled out the door in silence, only briefly stopping to glance at the piece of fruit. Grabbing onto it with his beak, he continued with a hesitant stride. Out of the corner of Setarian's eye, the Lupe looked back at him, tears streaming down his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Setarian attempted to forget about the Lupe and his actions, but the knot in his stomach made it a difficult task. A Petpet-sized rock snagged his foot; he tumbled forward, hitting his head against its flat surface. The fruit rolled away into the darkness. A dull soreness returned all along his right arm and across his body. An irritating ache settled on his heart. One of the bandages wrapped around his paws had slipped off and fell to the ground.

"What am I to do?" He asked no one in particular.

A light breeze started to blow across the damp fields, causing the Eyrie to shiver. He attempted to warm himself by rubbing both paws together, but the pain only grew worse. Light had yet to make its way above the horizon. In fact, it seemed hours away.

Perhaps the thought of a warm fire, acceptance from the troops, and forgiveness from Kass clicked in the Eyrie's mind at once, for it brought him a sudden surge of energy. Well, that and the knowledge that stopping to rest now would do nothing good for him.

_That's it! _ A second gust roared past. Given the thinness of his coat, he began to shiver. _My minions will have to accept me. No matter my appearance, they are bound to Lord Kass' army and have sworn eternal allegiance to both of us. Anything else would be treason. _

With only a vague guess as to where his troops might be, the Eyrie set out across sloping fields. In the mean time, he thought back to his survival training and searched for something edible for which to subsist as well as clean sources of water. Acres and acres of corn and marrow lay in ruins. Piles of ashen remains lay before him, none of it even the slightest bit palatable. Most of the wells were too polluted to draw clean water.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

For the slightest inkling of a moment, Setarian almost felt sorry for those Meridellians. The rumbling of his stomach seemed to agree with his pity; now, he also suffered. It was only now that he yearned for the Lupe's red fruit, whatever it had been. He would have searched for it, but such an effort would be a poor use of time. Only a small sliver of Kreludorless could be seen in the sky, making the fields seem dark and foreboding.

The only morsel of food he could find was a charred husk with a few dried out kernels. It looked like a Petpet might have gnawed on it before. Although he had grown used to army rations, such meager fillings would never have been given to even the worst behaved soldier. And yet…

His mouth opened and gnawed at the crunchy, charcoal reeking kernels, grimacing more than a few times. After every bit of food had been sheared from the husk, he turned towards the sky and could see the shadow of Kass' mighty citadel flying overhead. He yearned to call to him from below, but since Kass was more of a destroy everything ask questions later kind of an Eyrie (not that the General minded most of the time) getting his attention would probably not end well.

After the citadel had flown passed almost a half-hour later, Setarian followed in its wake. If the General knew anything about Kass—and he definitely did—it was to expect frequent monitoring from above. And if this expectation remained true, his troops would be in the same direction as the citadel's travels.

Some time passed before hunger began to gnaw at him again. The sudden smell of smoke began to waft in the air from a distant fire. The winds began to pick up as he walked forward. Dust and debris flew into the air. The aroma of a recently cooked meal drifted from a fire pit.

When he spotted spiked purple tents and the unidentifiable shadows of Neopians huddled around the flames, it took every ounce of his willpower not the barge into the middle of the camp. Kass would have reprimanded him for such rashness. Still, he wasted no time edging towards the fire pit and the warm, juicy meat that flavored the air.

As he came closer to the group, reality hit. _Will they believe me? There is nothing with me to back up my claims. Without a sword, a shield, and my adornments, I will sound like an insane child... _He sighed, looking at his claws and wiggled them, watching each furry digit move. They didn't look very menacing to say the least. That and they certainly would not be able to protect him in battle.

The chilly air blasted him yet again.

_I have no other choice but to confront them_. _If I stay here all night, it'll mean certain sickness. H_e stared longingly towards the warmth in silence. _Won't they be in for a surprise. _

His limped across towards the mostly darkened tents. The familiar sounds of a few voices could be heard, all of them hushed. Instead of going forward and speaking with them, he craned his neck and listened, feeling the shakiness in his paws. It was probably just the wind, he assured himself, as its chill penetrated him once again.

"I always knew the _Commander _ was nothing more than a coward!" A silhouetted figure shouted in a loud, mocking tone, easily heard from afar. "But who knew he would be a turncoat as well? I mean, really. Leaving his weapons and armor out in the middle of a field… you think that he wanted to give the Meridell scum a pile of presents or something." All that could be seen of her were large, pointed teeth that ripped through the night air. Next to the figure lay a long wooden spear. Its metal head glowed as if declaring a warning to all potential trespassers. "Who actually says, _' come, you worthless minions ,_' unless they have some major confidence issues, anyway?"

A mixture of groans and chuckles resonated throughout the camp, many of them deep and gravely.

Setarian nearly rushed in then and there, but clenched the dewy grass instead, gritting his beak together. At his angriest, the troops would whisper the name "Burning Blue," which he assumed to be associated with his eye color given the stiff way they looked at him.

"Well, we _all_ knew that to be the case," stated another matter-of-factly between a drawn out yawn. "The only reason any of us followed him was because Kass made us. And money." A small grinding sound akin to a nail forcibly rubbing against raw hide could be heard among the occasional crackle of the fire. "Not like Kass pays us enough to deal with him, anyway."

Rage stewed inside of him. If Darigans could blast their foes with fire balls, Setarian would have certainly done so now. Without thinking, he stomped forward. At that second, he wanted nothing more than to see them begging for mercy for their deplorable actions.

"So, Lord Kass wants the traitor eliminated, you say?" It was the first solider. There was the slightest inkling of joy in her deep, booming voice.

The General froze in place just before landing on a single stick. It made a loud cracking sound as it snapped in two. His eyes widened in fear. Both ears fell back. Air struggled to escape from his lungs.

_E-eliminated?!_

The laughing suddenly subsided as a wave of silence fell upon the group.

"What was that?"

Setarian felt a sudden warmness spread throughout his body. As if poisoned, every limb felt numb. All the while, loud popping and crackling sounds came from the fire pit as a large branch slipped into the inferno. Sparks scattered as it hit the ground.

Darigan armor often makes a distinct creaking sound when moved like a tree swaying during a strong storm. Setarian could hear multiple trees moving, some of them very close. One of them was coming his way.

"It's probably nothing," said one with a deep, feminine voice as she clutched onto an extra sharp looking dagger. The approaching soldier about-faced just as she neared Setarian's view. "Either way, we should double the guard just in case. Everyone, we're on alert tonight."

While the Darigans headed back towards the campfire in a tired daze, one soldier beckoned them 'back to business.'

"According to recent reports, Lord Kass thinks he may be helping the enemy." It was the nasal-sounding Darigan again. He never left the fire pit while his comrades searched. "Detaining him on the spot seems a little harsh, but hey, you know how Lord Kass is."

Silence fell over the group, as if they were musing.

"Orders are orders, I suppose. But it seems odd of Lord Kass to turn on him so suddenly. And here I thought he was fond of the guy. I mean, he did convince Lord Darigan not to dispose of him all those years ago—Ouch! Hey! Why did you do that?"

"Best you don't talk about ancient history around a bunch of young ones like these. It ain't wise."

"Hmph. It's not like Lord Darigan is going to come back from the grave and haunt me or something.

The lot of them laughed. "You never know!" one quipped.

D-dispose of me? Why wasn't I made aware of this fact? Setarian thought, still trying to making out each and every word of the disgruntled Darigans.. I always thought they provided a place for me because of my honorable late Father's military blood! Well, after they found me worthy of being trained, that is.

"Anyway, if you two nimrods are done fighting," a fourth soldier added in a bland monotone, "and you're done spouting illegal knowledge to younger, uninformed Darigans," she glared at the third soldier while letting out a loud yawn, "here are the facts. No matter his origin, it's not like he will be missed or anything. Not one Darigan in our fair citadel will mourn him."

Around half of the group, most of which had been silent, muttered words of apparent agreement as the fire continued to consume yet another branch. Tufts of smoke billowed into the crisp night air.

"Besides, I never did like those blue eyes," the first soldier sneered. "And although I'm sure most of you never wanted to say it, they look so… _un _Darigan. I for one am glad that we finally have an excuse to get rid of him."

A mixture of gasps, chuckles, and snorts erupted from the campsite before calming down.

"Well,"—it was the third voice again—"coward or not, we will need everyone at arms and ready to take him down as a unit, if necessary. We all know how strong he is. And if he is a traitor, given his personality, I doubt he will struggle with taking us down."

They all nodded.

"So, we leave at first light to snuff out the traitor, eh? Sounds like my job finally got a bit more interesting." It was hard to make out, but it almost sounded as if the money-loving soldier was rubbing his paws together and licking his lips. "Morning can't come soon enough."

"Well," the monotone one stated, "maybe we'll have some sport to play with while searching him out. It might be a good way to kill some boredom."

Many of them laughed. Some of them pretended to swing at each other, with mock shouts of terror coming from those playing the victim.

Little did they know that the 'traitor' had heard every word, and was now frozen in place in speechless horror. His eyes darted around looking for some sort of makeshift weapon. Of course, nothing could be found.

Setarian crawled away, his mouth agape and legs dragging slowly as if they were made of heavy, wet cement. Retreating may be equivocated with treachery, but being found seemed like a punishment far worse than element related death. At least one of the options would not be agonizing. He thought of those Meridellians that he had chased and taken down. At the time, it seemed almost fun to target the weak. Now, he was the sport. He could feel the color from his face draining. And to make matters worse, it was raining.

_Such a strange rain this is _, he thought as his bandaged head drooped towards the ground. _It is only falling upon me. _


	4. Chapter 4

Redemption no longer seemed to matter. Each step seemed like a mile, each minute stretched on for hours. And after much time had passed where he was walking alone, his body was chilled to the core. With so many years of service, it seemed unreal that Lord Kass would charge him of treason. After all, who else did he praise for having such a strong swing and an undying allegiance? One day he was the favored General of an impenetrable city and the next, a wanted Eyrie.

Seeing that his men wanted to hunt him down, going back to the Citadel seemed, for now, quite impossible. On the other hand, each time he pictured the Lupe farmer, a surge of guilt battered his already worn out mind. A tear always rolled down the farmer's face. The doll hiding within his pocket flopped back and forth as if shaking its head in disgust.

"Perhaps I have done a wrong." A mist of warm air expelled into the air. It seemed to dissipate almost instantly. _And perhaps all I know is wrong as well_.

One paw gave way as he tumbled to the ground, beak chattering and his body violently shivering.

_Move! _ His mind shouted, but he could not. _Come on, Move! _ There was no response. Even raising his head towards the cloudy sky seemed like lifting a ton of bricks. The darkness seemed to grow more and more powerful the longer he lay. Maybe being captured was not such a terrible fate after all.

As the night began to overwhelm him, a sudden burst of light fell from the sky and twirled as if dancing to some sort of ancient melody. It pirouetted upon the Eyrie's beak and bounced into his eyes, now closing slits. It burst within every fiber of his being. Instead of being painful, it felt warm and soothing as a quietly burning hearth. The ache in his shoulders still remained; only the weariness seemed to fade.

Soul set ablaze by a sudden burst of life, the Eyrie jolted from the ground and turned about. Nothing was there but the empty, lonely night.

"What in Neopia just happened…" he breathed, swishing his tail back and forth anxiously.

He began to walk forward as the first rays of light spread over the horizon; a pallet of colors marched across the sky. Albeit a welcome surprise, the light made him feel a certain dread. He drew in a tense breath. Feeling dew drops on his feathery wings, he felt weighed down, heavier. On top of everything else, the soldiers were surely following not too far behind him, even if they did not know it. Without a weapon, shelter or stable footing on two legs, he would not last long. 'Easy prey,' they might say.

From many Intel reports, a long list of known Meridellian "safe houses" protected the last of the Meridellian rebels living on the outskirts. The untrained ones, at least. Targeting such places would typically be the norm, but given the current emergency involving his "treachery," such grievances could not compare. After some deliberation, however, only one place truly stood out as a haven: Meridell, the last enemy stronghold. The city they had pledged peaceful relations to in the preceding years. How ironic it seemed that the city where that wretched king resided would ultimately be his salvation. Sighing in disgust, he continued on, angry thoughts buzzing in his mind.

Hours of non-stop traveling took quite a toll on Setarian. Still, rest no longer seemed like a priority, only survival. By the next evening, the General's ears perked up at nearly anything, whether a rustle in the wind or even the distant calls of a Whoot.

In the last remaining minutes of daylight, at a time when only a few rays still peaked over sloping hills and scattered into an array of stars, the outline of a magnificent white castle peaked above a grove of lush trees. In a matter of minutes, torch light illuminated an otherwise dark city. With little trouble and probably a great deal of luck, the Eyrie managed to slip by the gate without a problem.

Wobbling slightly, he weaved through a maze of dilapidated homes until he found one that contained an old stable. A light push opened the door, which creaked loudly at his entry. Musty hay and bedding lining the cobweb covered barn. Only the sounds of occasional squeaks—hungry Petpets, he hoped—could be heard. While perhaps the barn's accommodations paled in comparison to even the lowest manner of citadel homes, it provided shelter and more importantly, a place to finally stop and think. And only one thought could come to mind:

_Will Lord Kass even forgive me? What can I do to make amends for my misgivings?_

He pushed away the hay (gagging only a couple of times) to create a barren, but less grungy, bed. Lying upon the ground, he tossed and turned, finding no place even remotely comfortable. With a huff, his eyes closed, but he remained in a half-asleep daze.

_It only seems like a matter of time that a Meridell spy—which is basically all of them—will turn me in for some sort of reward… _

After perhaps an hour of sleep, the blinding sunlight startled him awake. He groaned. Accursed Meridell sunshine. Why must it be so bright? If the hay did not inch his skin, he might have stayed there longer.

_Well, there aren't pitchforks and torches after me yet_ , he chuckled bitterly in a sleepy daze, still remaining on one side. While picking off bits of rotting hay from his face, thoughts of a frighteningly long dream danced in his mind. One look at his small, talonless paws said otherwise.

_It'll take a miracle to save me now . _He shook his head, watching clumps of dirt fall to the ground. _It seems_ _the only way Kass will accept me is if I do something spectacular, like take down King Sk— _

"That's it," he whispered. "If the king is eliminated, Meridell will be without an heir. The kingdom will fall and will be easy prey to Lord Kass."

After raising up and brushing off any noticeable filth, he started to sneak through the city. Carts filled with all sorts of goods raced down the cobblestone paths as if possessed. Peddlers sold everything from bottles to flowers and even wooden swords. They sounded off like sirens all around him, begging for a sale. Never before had Setarian seen so many non-Darigans in one place. It sent shivers up his spine. In order to avoid eye contact from curious locals, in particular the overly aggressive salesmen, he stared towards the ground as if following the path of some unseen insect.

_Any one of these civilians could recognize me. If that happens … _his head shook, chasing away such thoughts.

He may have continued along his way if not for a sudden detour. Between two shops stood an Usul woman carrying a basket of brightly colored flowers. The flamboyant colors of her patchwork dress seemed faded after years of being washed out. Long, oval ears were wrapped by a striped headscarf. Her most striking feature, however, were a pair of blue eyes of a shade just a hair lighter than his. She stared vacantly towards the castle walls. As Neopians passed, she hardly paid them heed besides an occasional unenthused sales pitch. Setarian stared at the woman, fascinated by her every move.

"Are you interested in buying a flower, little one?" the line seemed mechanic, as if every passing child heard something similar.

Setarian shook his head, still intently focused on the elaborate weaving of her outfit. A sudden touch on the shoulder broke his trance as her face, young but worn, came close to his. His heart began to pound.

"… You have our eyes," she whispered, ignoring the calls of an interested customer. "It is not often that I see someone with such eyes." From the inside of her basket she removed a dainty white flower with a long, twisting stem. "Such an occasion deserves a gift, don't you agree?"

Setarian looked away, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see the paw retreating.

"You don't want it?" she asked, a twinge of sadness in her voice.

"I-I-I…" Something about this woman seemed strangely familiar, which was odd, given that they had never met.

"Is 'I' all you can say?" She chuckled lightly, a smile creeping across her face. A paw extended below Setarian's beak and cradled it, causing him to flinch. "You have nothing to fear in me," her silky voice cooed. "Now, little one, could you perhaps tell me your name? I would love to know."

Just as the General opened his mouth to speak, a rather upset looking Kiko bounced up between the two of them.

"Hey, you!" the Kiko shouted into her ears between bounces. "How many times do I have to tell you that I want to buy some flowers? Given how old and dirty your clothes are, it looks to me like you could really use the money!"

Setarian felt a tugging sensation in his heart as if it were being squeezed. Tension built up in his body and erupted.

One of his paws latched onto the Kiko's arms and gripped it tightly.

"You would do best to leave this woman alone," he roared, blue eyes blazing like a blizzard. "Or better yet, first give her an apology, then all of the money you have on hand."

She brought both of her paws up against her mouth in shock, dropping the basket to the ground, but said nothing.

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't by choice, I'll take it by force."

The Kiko laughed. "Really? I'd love to see you try."

As if a wire snapped within Setarian's brain as he tackled the Kiko head first, pushing him against a pile of scrolls. Both coins and nearby Meridellians scattered in all directions. The Kiko backed up against a shop front. His eyes were wide with fright. Before Setarian could pounce again, he bounced away down the winding roads, whimpering for help. No one but the mildly curious seemed to be around. The impassive glances of various Neopians viewed the scene from afar, but all of them continued on their way without comment.

After every coin had been picked up, Setarian presented them to the Usul all while balancing on two legs. Instead of being thanked with abundant compliments and joy, as he imagined, her face was twisted with sadness. Her eyes glittered with the same intensity that his did, but they seemed to reflect specks of auburn amidst otherwise blue seas.

"I was mistaken. Perhaps we do not have the same eyes after all."

The coins clattered to the ground.

"But, he was being cruel to you for no reason! Surely that merits a reason to strike back?"

"So eloquent for one so young," she began in a hushed voice, placing a few of the fallen coins into a small quilted coin purse. "He too must have reasons for being angry; war does terrible things to all affected by it." Her head then turned towards the castle, brow furrowed.

"I can tell you are not of this land and its conflicts," Setarian stated while she turned back, "yet you harbor no grudges for either side?"

Her gaze again traveled towards the castle before she shrugged, blue eyes dimming. "Why choose to hate when all sides have suffered? We are all Neopians, after all, no matter our origin." She remained silent for just a moment, staring directly into Setarian's eyes. "Cup your paws, please."

Setarian did as he was told.

"These are for you, mysterious stranger." A pile of gold coins fell into the Eyrie's paws. As the last coin dropped, she turned away and immersed herself in a crowd of strangers. "Maybe one day we shall meet again."

Setarian bolted after her, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, he stood face-to-face before two sternly faced guards, both of which guarded a castle entrance. Both stood at least two feet above him. One appeared to be an unkempt blue Skeith with a fuzzy beard, the other an orange Draik bearing a small and relatively fresh scar across his eye. The Skeith's eyes fell upon Setarian as the soldier let out a loud belch.

Setarian's fur was matted and covered in hay. He attempted to pick out some of the grim, but his efforts seemed futile.

"What are you looking at, street trash?" He growled.

Tempting as it seemed to claw the guard's eyes out, the Eyrie remained relatively calm after biting his tongue. It seemed wrong to attack the guard when that Usul woman could still be around. Well, that and a slim chance of actually claiming victory against a trained warrior without a weapon. Quickly, he let both shoulders drop and attempted to hide a scowl. The inner cogs of his mind began to turn, scheming as they did.

"Hello there," responded the General in his sweetest sounding voice. He bowed slightly, as per habit and formal Darigan custom. "I am searching for someone. Do you know where I might find them?"

The two of them turned to each other with eyebrows raised and let out hushed chortles. Setarian could hear them whispering words such as "trash," "dirty," and "riddance." A chill shot through his body as they spoke, but he attempted to feign ignorance. It was getting exceedingly difficult not to hate them, however.

"Who might you be looking for, little runt?" asked the Draik with a grin, leaning a paw against his chin. "Your Mother? 'Cause we haven't seen her."

_Feh _, Setarian spat, eyes narrowing. _They won't be laughing for long _. A plethora of different torture methods came to mind. Images of their screaming forms brought Setarian such glee that a low, maniacal chuckle escaped. Quick to notice his mistake, he promptly changed tactics. Based on their suddenly apprehensive looks, however, they would not be an easy sell.

"Ah…" he started, attempting to cover up the previous seconds, "I just wanted to tell King Skarl a funny joke is all." Their faces soured. "That's why I was laughing—really."

The scarred solider started to say something just as the Skeith's paw jetted out in front of his buddy's face.

"I'll take care of this," he started, before turning to 'this.' "Look, kid." Setarian refrained from hissing. "If you want an audience with the king, he's busy worrying about raising the marrow taxes without causing a city-wide riot. And… last time I checked, he was out that way." A hairy claw pointed towards a far off field. The General eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing. "Hey, if I'm wrong, you can take it up with our military commander."

When Setarian would not move, the Draik began to slide his right claw towards the baldric riding along his waist. All the while, his steady leer made Setarian uneasy. He remained silent by biting down upon his tongue.

"Well, kid, what are you waiting for—an escort?" The Skeith crossed his arms another, increasing his defenses. "Or are you too stupid to understand what I just said?"

Setarian could no longer remain silent. Under normal circumstances, he would have gladly fought both of the guards and imprisoned them for the rest of their miserable lives. "I don't believe you," he spat. "And although watching you both publicly punished by your commander—Jeran, I'm assuming?—seems rather tempting, I'll pass."

"Why you little brat!" shouted the Draik, drawing his blade. The Skeith only growled in response. "I'm sure Skarl wouldn't mind if I took care of you now. Trash like you only breathes to default to the enemy side." His eyes scanned Setarian's small form. "As a matter of fact, given how filthy you are, you would fit right in."

The General snarled.

"You want a fight so badly? Let us not wait any"— tap came upon his shoulder—"WHAT?"

A wide-eyed checkered Kyrii sporting a dirty purple jacket and tattered trousers stood shaking behind the General. "I-I-I have a sword I could sell, assuming you don' care where it's from—"

"You would help him?" shouted the Draik, drawing the attention of a crowd.

"Hey, a Kyrii's got to eat somehow, am-I-right?" he said with a shrug.

Setarian smiled sinisterly, handing the merchant a few of the Usul saleswoman's gold coins. "Of course I'll buy a sword, opportunistic salesman. Thank you for your services."

As soon as the gold coins fell into the Kyrii's grubby paws, he dashed in the other direction while pulling a purple hood over his head.

"Now," he turned back towards both opponents, the growling Skeith and scornful Draik, who now eyed him as if a sworn enemy. "Shall we? And just to be fair," he added in a mocking tone, standing on his shaky back legs, "you can get the first shot."

The Draik charged in almost immediately, thrusting the blade towards Setarian. The General sidestepped and attempted to parry. Their blades grazed each other.

Setarian managed to push away the blade only slightly, arms quaking. Making use of a gap, he sliced aggressively towards the Draik's torso. Luckily, his short size made weaving about the two of relatively easy, despite the uneasiness of standing on two legs.

While barely avoiding Setarian's strike, the solider leapt back, eying the opposing long sword's position and preparing a defensive counterattack.

The Eyrie whirled backwards, nearly losing his footing in the process.

"Someone, stop them!" a Meridellian shrieked, but none of them would budge.

The Eyrie jabbed towards the Draik's hand in an effort to disarm him. Somehow, it connected, but the sword did not budge. The soldier grunted angrily in response.

The soldier retaliated by crashing his blade (and around half his body weight) against Setarian's at a forty-five degree angle, knocking the sword from the Eyrie's paws. Before Setarian could respond, the blade swung back again and sliced at the Eyrie's wing joint. Setarian slammed into dusty path only a few feet from the weapon, writhing in pain.

Sparks flew from the ground where the Skeith dragged his blade. Little dots of light raced towards the Eyrie's face. Setarian rolled away, managing to grab the sword from the ground. He then fended off another of the Skeith's blows by thrusting his sword, but from the ground, this proved difficult. He quickly moved in the blade to block. The enemy weapon quivered only inches from his heart as his blade shook from the crushing power above.

The General began to squirm about, but could find no means of escape. It took all of his remaining willpower to retain a firm grip when he uttered two words that are almost as painful as throwing salt on a fresh wound:

"I yield."

The swordsman continued to press his weapon even closer to his heart. Moving proved impossible. The Skeith only smiled.

"I yield! I yield!" he shouted frantically. Blue orbs reflected from the guard's impassive eyes.

Setarian's back pressed against cobble roadways. Smooth stones dug into his fur. The enemy's sword grazed his throat.

"P-please…," he begged, "no more…"

"You asked for this, brat."

Setarian closed his eyes.

Just then, a voice reverberated from afar. "Stop this at once!"

The Skeith froze his advanced and twirled around.

"We have to leave," he hissed to the Draik.

"But, what about the brat—"

"I have it taken care of. If he can't remember who we are, there's no evidence against us." The Skeith quickly jabbed a shivering Setarian in the head with the back end of his sword. Metallic clanging retreated into the distance.

Head throbbing, Setarian attempted to get up, only to fall prone once again. The world spun around and faded away into darkness.

Before he completely blacked out, a blurry red and blue form stood above him.

"Quick!" it said, "I need the court's healer. And don't worry, little guy, I won't let anything else happen to you…"

* * *

Author's note: at the time of this chapter's publication, only one reader has glanced at chapter two and no one has read chapter three. Blah. Not gonna lie, I'm kind of bummed. I'll keep updating it though, I guess.


	5. Chapter 5

For an unknown amount of time, everything seemed obscured. Muffled voices could be heard around him. They faded in an out. After a while, the room fell to silence.

He found himself in a room with peeling paint and flickering candles. Various Neopians, mostly children, paced in front of him. One even walked _through_ him, causing the Eyrie to jump back with a start. No one in the room reacted.

_A dream_, he thought, staring at his see-through paw, _but why now? Where am I, anyway?_

Chipped building blocks littered the ground. One Neopian, a golden Pteri with fraying wings and a jet black mane yawned as two of the youngsters pulled at her wings, begging for food. She broke away, but they continued to cling. Those not playing with the meager supplies seemed to be creating games of their own.

"Let's play Citadels and Castles," asserted a burly Korbat, a head taller than the rest, as he kicked aside a block. Slivers of wood burst from the impact. "Of course, _I'll_ play Lord Darigan."

_Lord Darigan? But he's been long since dead_.

"I want to play, too," added a mousey voice belonging to a gaunt, white-furred Eyrie. Threadbare clothes barely covered his body. "May I?"

Setarian froze. The child padded closer to them, ghostly blue eyes begging for acceptance.

The Korbat shoved him to the ground. "No freaks allowed."

"Freak?" his voice squeaked as tears filled his eyes.

Setarian wiped a paw against his eye automatically, but felt nothing.

"Look at the baby _cry_," mocked his accomplice, a short and scrawny Grarrl with a sinister grin. "No one's ever gonna want to adopt someone like _you_, Setarian. Face it. You're just the citadel's trash waiting to be thrown away."

Their paws curled into fists at the same moment, the former general and the child.

"No, I'm not," the child called Setarian shouted, "and you'll see. One day, I'll be in the army. Then we'll see who's trash."

The nameless Korbat cracked his knuckles as two of his other cronies snuck from behind and held him down. "Oh, we shall see indeed…"

Just as Setarian held out his hand to protest, the room's lights dimmed. Before his eyes, the two bullies began to morph into the figures of two Meridell guards, a Skeith and a Draik. They towered above him, flexing their claws. The child shouted, but no one lifted a finger to stop the pain.

Setarian woke up with a start, gasping as light scattered across his pupils.

"Hey! I think he is finally waking up!"

Setarian tried to move, to escape from the threats, but his body felt like lead engulfed in molasses. An incomprehensible mutter escaped from the Eyrie's mouth.

_Leave me be!_

After no pain followed his struggle, he began to calm down. The ground no longer felt earthy, but instead soft and springy. He cautiously turned his aching neck towards a blue Lupe who sat alongside him in a wooden chair. Dark circles lined the stranger's eyes. He wore a simple blue and red tunic with knee-length blue trousers. A long sword was fastened to his belt.

"I trust you will be able to tend to him?"

He turned towards a red Zafara wearing a pointed hat, yawning broadly. Yellow star and moon shapes dotted her floor-length cloak.

"Of course! My potions can cure almost anything." She drummed a finger against her chin. "Well, okay, maybe not the common cold, but nothing cures that. Oh, wait a second, are you going somewhere?"

He rose from the wooden chair, cricked his neck and stretched out his arms. "I think it best to tell Lisha that he's woken up. She's been really worried about the little guy since we brought him to the castle three days ago. It's a wonder that she can study under such conditions." The Lupe glided to the door and, from the sounds of it, pulled open a metal latch. "Thank you again and sorry for the formalities. It's just a force of habit." The door stuck, but it eventually closed.

_Lisha?_ The name seemed so familiar, like a storybook character or something. _Perhaps she is one of the other children from that dream_?

Weight fell upon his forehead. It felt damp and cool. Something else wrapped around his arm, but it was warm and furry, making the Eyrie flinch. It did not feel painful; instead, the touch seemed akin to how he imagined the embrace of a mother around her kin to be like.

"I'm going to need you to open up your mouth so you can take your medicine," the sweet, mousey voice chimed with just a twinge of childlike bounciness. "It will make you feel a whole lot better and make all of the owies go away. It even tastes like grape—an added bonus! And don't worry," she added, grasping his paw even tighter, "no one is going to hurt you ever again."

'_No one will ever adopt you, Setarian,'_ a chilling voice chimed in his head, storming over hers. '_No one wants a freak like you_.'/i

Before his head could shake in retaliation, her other paw reached out and pulled on his lower beak. Thick, sweet-tasting liquid slithered down his throat. Apparently, the potion was strong, because the moment it hit his stomach, everything went dark yet again.

Setarian's eyes snapped open. A quick scan around him showed a multitude of individuals, including a yellow Aisha girl sporting glasses with extra-large round frames, a Blumaroo wearing a cape, and both the Lupe and Zafara from before.

"You're awake!" squeaked the Aisha, leaping forward to hug him.

"Get away…" Setarian murmured in a daze, face twisting in pain as he thrashed about. "Get away from me…"

_I am_ _to be in Lord Kass' army. I will be your superior._

The Lupe sighed deeply at the girl's sudden quietness. "Lisha, I'm afraid he took quite a hit to the head. He should be alright in time, but it may take a while for him to understand his bearings…"

Lisha put a paw in front of her mouth, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Are you sure about that, Jeran?"

Setarian's mind was numb, but felt his gaze drifting to the Lupe.

_Jeran_. _I know that name. Perhaps he is one of those wicked children?_

"Who is Jeran?" questioned the General to no one in particular.

His mind started to drift, recalling snippets of recent memories. Like a Kougra baring sharp, jagged teeth, the Draik's sharp blade came closer and closer to his neck. Setarian began to quiver under the covers. "No!" he whispered, wetness lining his eyes. A lump formed in his throat making it hard to speak. "I yield…" Silence filled the room.

"Oh my gosh," Kayla whispered, tearing up. Her paws covered her mouth as her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "I… I think he's going to need a stronger potion."

Setarian might have remained within the same daydream if not for one look at Jeran's face. Deep lines spread from forehead to brow, making him appear much older. His slitted eyes wore battle-ready fierceness.

_Why do you look so angry, Lupe_? he thought in a daze. _Are you jealous of how further I will go than you_?

"So it's true what I heard earlier. One of my i_comrades/i_ encouraged a civilian—a child at that— to duel." There was a long pause as the lines on his face gradually faded. He scanned Setarian's shivering form and pounded his fist into the bed. "You're lucky to be alive. And here my men are to be honorable and chivalrous. This… this is unacceptable. King Skarl will hear of this."

"I sure hope so," Kayla replied, ears flopping down. "And soon, too."

"Wait, Jeran," cried Lisha, catching the attention of all in the room. She placed her head upon his side. "You want to make sure to present your case to King Skarl calmly. If you're too angry, he might think you're using your emotions rather than good judgment to catch these guys. Besides..." she waved Jeran closer and whispered something into his ear.

His eyebrows rose. "You still miss him, don't you?"

She nodded solemnly. Before long, Jeran was giving her a bear hug, followed by mussing her fur. The tension in the air seemed to vanish, if only a little.

"It's hard to believe you've only been together for such a short time," said Kayla, shaking her head. "Guess it guys to show how strong the bonds of siblings can be even after hundreds of years of separ—" she coughed suddenly. "Oh, oopsie, probably shouldn't talk about that in front of our guest. Anyway," she poked Jeran's shoulder. "I think you have duties to do. We'll take care of things here. I'll prepare another potion to soothe our little friend here and… we'll keep you updated with his condition."

"Indeed I have duties, unfortunate given the timing." Jeran nodded. "But thank you, Kayla. I can see why Lisha treasures your friendship."

Some time passed before the knight returned. Lisha waited with Setarian while the others were away. After a long period of silence during which Setarian curled up tightly under the covers, she climbed upon the bed and stared the Eyrie straight in the eyes.

"So, I have two questions for you." Setarian stared back in an emotionless daze. "First off: what is your name?"

It seemed like a simple enough question. For Lisha, at least.

Setarian closed his eyes. A thousand different voices swirled about his head at once. All of them said the same word: Setarian.

_They call me Setarian_.

And each and every of them were Darigans. That is, except a handful of very frightened Meridellians. Images of a moderately tall, handsome Darigan Eyrie with bright blue eyes embedded in his brain from a faded mirror.

_I am a Darigan_, he asserted, _one of Lord Kass' chosen people_.

"Are you alright?" Lisha called, lightly shaking him.

Setarian shook his head as if leaving a trance. An Aisha girl just asked for his name. Not just any Aisha, the enemy's—Jeran's—sister.

_And this is not where I belong_.

"Serian," he blurted, quick to clamp his beak shut. He shrunk back from her face, which was just inches away and quickly scanned the room: a single bed, closets, bookshelves, a dusty wooden floor, and a very curious little Aisha.

Lisha tilted her head. "Serian, huh? Can't say I've heard that one before." Stroking one finger on her chin, she began to muse out loud. "Yeah… you'll fit in just fine here."

"Excuse me?"

"Well… I overheard Jeran talking about the situation with your family and…" Lisha trailed off, twisting her feet back and forth over the bed. "That was what the second question is for, Serian."

Just then, Jeran burst through the door. Setarian jumped, slamming his back against the wall.

"He looks a lot livelier," Jeran blurted. "Good to see." He scrambled through the room and grabbed a red and blue uniform complete with a layer of polished mail. When his head stuck out of a sleeve, a chorus of giggles escaped from his little sister. "Both of you," he pointed to them while trying to straighten himself out, "come with me, if you are feeling up to it. If not, both of you should stay behind. Either way, I have a hearing with the king."

Setarian sprung up from the bed, sending sheets flying in all directions. His bandaged wing slammed the headboard, causing him to yelp. "The King?! King Skarl?"

Lisha ran over to steady him. When he seemed less shaky, she tilted her head and gave him a curious grin. Seeing her glasses had tilted along with her, she took to fiddling them. "Who else would it be? Were you expecting King Hagan?"

Thoughts from four days prior filled his mind. '_Eliminate King Skarl_,' they chimed. i_ 'Lord Kass will have to accept you back_…'/i

"Redemption…" muttered, Setarian.

"What's that, Serian?"

_Nothing you need to know about_.

When "Serian" remained silent, Jeran continued to move about. "That is quite," he fitted a leather belt and fashioned a silver sword with written symbols along his waist, "an interesting name. Was he born around here?" Lisha shrugged. A couple of pats flattened his fur, which had been standing on end. "Are you both ready?"

"Yes!" Lisha chimed. "Oh wait—" she scrambled towards a space behind Jeran's dresser and removed a block of thick brown cardboard adorned with a hand-drawn shield. In her hands was a glowing object. The first slipped over her head, and the second quietly hummed. An aurora of colors glowed around its edges. "You can never be too careful!"

_Give me a break. Those trinkets would not protect you against anything!_

Jeran chuckled between nervous glances towards the king's quarters, and ruffled her hair with his right paw. "You'd make a great knight, Lisha, but even they have to be punctual!"

She turned to Setarian, laughing nervously. "Come on, we don't want to be late!"

Setarian grumbled, hopping from the bed with a single jump. Before he could go any further, a yellow object dangled in front of his face. He looked up to see the expectant face of a very persistent Aisha.

"Let's walk together!" When the only response was an irritated sigh, her head dropped as her pointed ears and glasses flopped as well. "I see..." she murmured softly. "Sorry, Serian."

_You should be. I don't wish to be babied. _

The longer she stared at him, the worst he felt. His stomach knotted up when she would not move.

"Fine." The Eyrie turned away and felt heat rise in his cheeks. A gentle grip wrapped about his paw. It felt warm. And, although he loathe to admit it, the very manifestation of friendliness.

After some effort and wobbling about, he extended one arm out and managed, for the first time in a long while, somewhat firm footing on two legs. Such a feat would have been far more difficult—if not almost impossible—alone. "Might as well have some shred of dignity," he grumbled under his breath.

_If such a thing even exists for me while in this form…_

They both navigated long, winding hallways. What Lisha took as exploring was really Setarian soaking in a mental map of the enemy's territory. Jeran rushed ahead while the two of them puttered along. Even with support, the General still could not move very quickly. Casual glances were shot by passing guards, many of whom smiled as Lisha approached. A few of them even addressed her as "Lady Lisha," a title that seemed to elicit a chuckle from the girl. After some time, they approached large wooden doors guarded by two stern faced guards. Setarian felt a shiver jolt up his spine as Lisha dragged him into the throne room.

Large red and blue drapes covered the twenty or so windows that lined the room. Beams of sunlight reflected on the brick-laden ground. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, little blades of crystal shimmering from each. A plush red carpet stretched along the length of the room and paraded over three steps. This led up to a large Meridell shield with golden spears lining either side.

Upon a large wooden throne adorned in jewels and laden with layers of padded cushions sat the king, a portly blue Skeith framed by a red robe and thinning brown hair. A large golden crown sat snuggly on his head. Kneeling next to him was Jeran. Based on the volume of the host in the room, a meeting had just ended.

Setarian's paw curled into a fist. It had been often that Kass mentioned the evils of King Skarl, how he ordered Neopians like Jeran to steal an orb of shimmering gold—the citadel's treasure and source of well-being. So distracted was he by the preoccupation of finding a sharp weapon to destroy the king, that he almost did not hear Jeran's next words:

"Permission to dismiss the code breaking guards, my King?"

"Permission granted." There was not even an inkling of hesitation in Skarl's voice. "But I thought you came with dire news? Do tell me, Jeran."

_Let me guess_, Setarian thought bitterly, _a food shortage in your banquet hall? Oh wait, given how high your marrow taxes are, that isn't a problem for you, is it?_

"Of course, my King. It seems that..."

Setarian might have completely ignored the knight and calculated an attack plan if not for Lisha's apparent worry. She stood just inside the throne's entryway, chewing at her paw and fiddling with her glasses. Well, that and Jeran's sudden use of ihis/i name—his real one.

"Setarian, you say?"

"Indeed. You see, an unarmed Darigan messenger had been brought to me while I was on rounds. He offered me—me, of all Neopians!—Neopoints if any of our men were to find their commander. They even invited some Meridell ambassadors to his public trial when he's found. Apparently they wish to try him for treason for his misgivings." He paused for a second, biting his lip. "You and I both know how Kass runs his trials."

Skarl's face remained relatively blank, though it almost appeared as if he cracked a slight grin. "With all that he has done, I would not disagree with such a notion, even if I may not agree with many of Kass' rulings. Jeran, I—what is going on?"

In the background, there was a string of low, mumbled cackles coming from a wild-eyed Eyrie. Words flowed from his beak, but they sounded like high-pitched squeaks interspersed with bouts of laughter.

"It's all for naught, then. Even if I did succeed, I'm still a traitor. Everything—absolutely everything—is for naught..."

_I'll be destroyed either way…_

Images of the farmer's tears bombarded Setarian's mind. The doll. The fruit. The bandages. The General imagined himself being tried by the Meridellians for his many crimes. The punishment would undoubtedly be quite similar. He tried to push the many faces of the Meridellian unknown out of his head—to forget the trash and move on, as Kass would have said—but their fear-struck faces had well embedded themselves within his sub-conscious. It was more than any Neopian could handle. Luckily, the best scapegoat of Darigankind happened to be in the room, and he had the distinct honor of talking to him.

"Who is this child, Lisha?" asked King Skarl in an even tone, drumming his fingers against the wooden throne.

"He's—"

"He's the guest I mentioned, your Highness," interrupted Jeran, speeding up after each word. "The one that the guards attacked. He may have suffered from a concussion."

"I see."

_Like something like that would affect me…_ Setarian thought, grunting under his breath.

"What do you think of them?" Setarian said suddenly, his shaking voice cutting through the silence. All eyes turned to Jeran. "The villagers that I—that he—attacked. What of them?"

The king shot Jeran a glance that stung of both unquestionable anger and a twinge of disappointment.

"I see no reason to answer such a question," responded the King through a snarl. "Now remove this child from my court."

But Setarian would not stop, even with Lisha tugging on him. He broke from her grasp and walked down the carpet, blue eyes blazing. "What of the farmers? Why were there no troops there? Why did he so easily destroy your land?"

_How am I the evil one here_?

Jeran's mouth may as well have dropped to the floor.

Skarl calmly responded as if musing. Guards managed to restrain the Eyrie in place while Lisha's glasses steadily flooded with a layer of fog.

"So, one of the farm children are you? Or perhaps not. You remind me of Mariana, the traitorous foreigner who once danced in my courts, but perhaps that is just in the odd color of your icy blue eyes." The Eyrie's face soured as the king continued. "Well, if I must humor you with an answer, I will first ask you a question. Surely you realize that I must protect my people? Truly I wish I could protect everyone, but that is not possible. Sacrifices must be made for peace. I am aware that there are Darigans are heckling the villagers, but there is little I can do with my current resources at hand. Besides, it was their choice to live so far from the castle." Jeran noticeably grimaced by the king's speech, but remained quiet. "Now, guards," he motioned to the many that held onto the violently squirming general, "take him away. I'll figure out how best to punish the child later."

_Just you try to lock me away in your filthy dungeons. I'll fight you to my dying breath._

"My King, if I may," Skarl turned towards Jeran just as the two guards started to drag Setarian back. The King stopped them in their tracks with a raised claw. "As your trusted adviser, I make one request." To an untrained eye, Jeran might have looked unshaken by the recent events. The king, however, focused on the knight's right hand, which fiddled with the hemmed corner of his tunic.

Skarl shifted within his throne. His clawed hand rested firmly against one meaty cheek. "What is this request?"

Jeran swallowed a lump in his throat while his paw continued to pick at his side. "I would like to train this child. I think, with his raw potential, that he could make an excellent knight in time."

_Me, a knight of Meridell? Are you kidding?_

Setarian might as well have caught potatoes in his open mouth; at least a few would have fit perfectly. All of his muscles went limp as he stopped struggling against the guard's grip.

"Why do you care about a stranger you hardly know?" questioned the General in a soft, muted voice. His tail wrapped around a back leg and swished back and forth within a small space. A few times, bristles became stuck in the guard's armor.

"I was about to ask the same exact thing, child. Heh, at least we agree on something there. But I must admit I am curious, Jeran. How do you know he has potential, and why are you defending him so much?"

"I have two reasons. One, I believe everyone deserves a second chance at life no matter who they are or what they have done. This little Eyrie managed to spar well with the rogue guards that you dismissed." Setarian's shivered as a chill passed through his body. "And two?" Lisha was smiling weakly while gently rubbing her glasses against her tunic. "My sister tells me that she has always wanted a younger brother..."

Setarian's body melted like jelly through the soldier's hands.

Only a few audible words escaped from Setarian's mouth. "Brother? _Me_?" He craned up his neck towards the guards, who took turns glancing downwards and towards the royal court. They looked just as confused as he did.

Lisha, noticing the sudden silence, turned towards the king and bowed.

"Your highness, I plead for your mercy. Serian is just a little kid and..." she slowly placed her right paw which had since balled into a fist against the cardboard shield. In her left, the star-shaped rod continued to purr, pink waves of light pulsing through the air. "As a court's magical aid and scholar, I feel I should do my best to help others in need. I mean, fighting for the good of Meridell is why my friends and I came here in the first place, right? Please, King Skarl, let us have the opportunity to help him." She turned towards her brother who flashed a partial grin. From the king's angle, Jeran looked as stoic as ever, but Lisha and Setarian could easily see a single tooth gleaming in the sun light.

A lump formed in Setarian's throat. The sting he felt in his eyes only magnified as he turned his gaze towards a red and blue shield lining the wall. It glowed in the sun, radiant and mighty and yet terrifying all the same. Even Setarian had to admit it looked beautiful, but it still seemed foreign, unwelcoming. He still felt a Darigan inside even if his reflection said otherwise. If they ever found out who he truly was… their kindness, their warmth, it would all be gone in a flash. As it was, Setarian knew from the shocked faces of the other Meridell soldiers that they would not take well to having a troublemaker, especially one they believed lowborn, being trained by their commander and his sister.

_Naive little Lisha, I'm the last one you would ever want as a brother..._

King Skarl kneaded his forehead, bellowing his disgust through the room.

"Jeran."

The Lupe jumped back. "Yes, my King?"

"I have decided to grant your request. For now. But…" Lisha bounced in place, quite literally about to leap with joy, but the tension in the room froze her in place. Based on the King's furrowed brow, and Jeran's cutting motions, Skarl still had more to say. "If the youth causes any more issues, I will do far more than simply lock him in the dungeons. I have far too much else on my mind—the importance of a new marrow tax, for example—to let a rather _vocal_ Eyrie cause me any further grief. Is that clear, Jeran? Lisha?"

"Yes, my King," they said with a bow.

"I am too kind a ruler," Skarl sighed, slumping against his throne, "but I will trust your guidance. Guards, unhand the Eyrie. He will serve under Jeran as a squire, so his presence will be a common one in our courts. This, of course, is assuming he proves himself worthy of the honor. And before long, unless he wishes to have a painful reminder of his former societal ranking, he will learn how to _properly_ address me." He turned to Jeran. "Once the child is situated, there is still much to discuss."

"Of course, your highness."

Setarian felt himself lowered to the cold, hard ground. Quick footsteps made their way up to him followed by a tight hug.

"I'm so glad!" chirped Lisha. "Now you have a family!" Setarian felt his entire body knot up. He thought back to the troops who so bluntly said that none would mourn him and shivered. "First things first, let's see how quick you are to learn magic. I mean, you have to defend yourself somehow, right? Then we can go tour the castle and..."

She continued to chatter. All the while, both she and Jeran led him outside of the throne room. Once they had walked for a few minutes, Jeran abruptly turned around and rushed back towards the king's quarters. As the knight rounded a corner, he gave a thumbs up. So typically goody-goody.

Setarian sighed. _I have a family now, huh? They'll come to regret that decision soon enough_.

* * *

Author's note: Insanitysilver, you just made my day. 3 Thank you~

Here's chapter 5! Six should be uploaded within the next few days.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days of rest came and went before Lisha dragged Setarian out of the room once more.

"Lisha."

The Aisha stopped in her tracks and turned back to face her new found younger brother. Setarian's face was washed out and his eyes seemed distant and unfocused. Lisha's smile seemed to vanish instantly as her long, stalk like ears drooped.

"Serian, are you alright?"

"… Of course." As if to reinforce his point, he added volume to his wavering voice. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't look alright." Her head tilted to the side. "Perhaps we should have our magic training another—"

"—why do you still choose to trust me? You hardly know anything about me, Lisha!" Setarian's beak slowly clamped together, but his eyes focused squarely on her large framed glasses. She tried to place a paw on his shoulder. He bent away.

"Jeran told me that no Meridellian would claim you as their kid and… it made me sad. No one should be alone, Serian. No one. I mean, it's really…" her voice cracked. "It's really hard to go on without a family. I mean, losing one sibling was hard enough. We may have found each other again a little over a year ago, but the point still stands. Without any of them… I… I… don't know what I would have done."

Apparently, one of Lisha's friends, a caped blue Blumaroo with a pension for vampiric theatrics, overheard her speech and rushed in to give her a hug. Lisha had to promise she was okay before the Blumaroo would let her be. Then, with a quick nod and a friendly wave to the duo, he was bouncing down the hallways. Literally. A suit of armor nearly fell onto the floor in his stead.

She wiped a tear from her eye, mentioning that Boris always knew the best ways to make her smile. Setarian watched the bouncing Blumaroo in stunned confusion.

"This is probably going to sound really sappy, Serian," she interrupted his thoughts, "but sometimes all we need is someone who will stand beside us and say, 'I believe in you.' I want to be that Neopian—no, big sister—for you. That is…" the Aisha shifted from side to side, thumb against her lowered lip, "if _you _want to be my little brother. I mean, if not, it's okay, I guess, but…"

Setarian rolled his eyes, but did so while turning away from her gaze.

_You want me as a little brother? When I'm years older than you? Well, Kass wants me on trial no matter what I do now, Skarl almost threw me into a dungeon, and yet…_ Lisha had stopped breathing the last few seconds and her eyebrows were tightly arched. His sigh resonated throughout the hallway. _What other choice do I have? _

"Alright, Lisha. Show me that I can be welcome here and I will stay."

_For now, anyway_.

"I'm so glad…" exhaling loudly, she hastily wiped her sparkling eyes, trying to hide them with a beaming smile. "I wouldn't want to lose my second chance."

"Your wha—oh, never mind." _I have more important curiosities to have answered than asking about some 'second chance.'_ "So, now that I _live_ in this castle, what will we do first?" A sarcastic edge began to dig into his voice. Far too long had he it been since he had the opportunity to speak his mind. "What teachings shall I learn in the magnificent art of magic, oh wise and powerful one? Turning objects pink and frilly?"

Lisha's grin metamorphosed into a frown. Setarian couldn't help but uttering a laugh, which merited a light punch to his back. Luckily, she missed a sore spot.

"Humph!" Lisha gripped the glowing instrument in her paw, placing her opposing paw against her side in an arch. "Magic is a lot more powerful than you think, Serian. And it's not like I do girly stuff with it, either."

_Oh, I _know_ magic can be strong. Ancient magic such as that Bruce's little toy is a prime example. I doubt your skill could hold its own against anything of merit_.

"Well, no use just telling me. If you're this powerful," he poked her cardboard shield, "_prove_ it."

The Aisha jumped back, nearly losing her balance. Clutching the wand tighter, she stamped forward. "You're on!"

Trekking through the castle, Lisha resonated between grumbling pouts and bubbly grins, depending on whether or not others were around. Setarian's nonchalant smirks left most of the passing Neopians looking rather confused.

After making a pit stop for supplies in Lisha's room (Setarian had to wait outside), they arrived at a small courtyard. Manicured hedges lined the periphery. Various topiaries, all shaped like King Skarl, dotted the corners and a large fountain shaped eerily like the Usul saleswoman sat in the center, water pouring out of her cupped hand. It appeared to be partially painted, with bright blends of color covering the base and only a splattering of purple paint near the face. It seemed odd given the light tan covering her arms and legs. She appeared to be in the middle of an intricate dance; creases lined her stone skirt. Her carved eyes firmly focused on them as they walked along. The Eyrie could not take his eyes off the dancer, perhaps because of its semblance to a mysterious figure of the past. What intrigued him the most was her smile, or lack thereof. It starkly contrasted with her otherwise jovial display.

"Serian! Will you stop looking at that statue and focus?"

The Eyrie whipped his head around to see Lisha tapping her foot against the grass. He glanced back at the statue's frozen design before shaking his head and walking towards his mentor. But not before rolling his eyes. The Aisha grunted lightly, but began the lesson anyway.

"Alright. Time for me to teach you what magic can _really_ do." The slightest burst of light came from the Aisha's paw. It raced up the rod as if climbing a spiral staircase. At the object's tip, a bright golden light burst in all directions before coalescing upon its center. Quickly, he turned away, shielding his watering eyes from the powerful display.

"Magic must be channeled through different artifacts to keep it from going out of control. Some wands can store large amounts of energy, as you can see. For example," the wand hummed loudly, its golden pulses distorting the air around it. "This is the Wand of Supernova. It takes a _very_ strong magic user—one that is well studied—to control it properly." Setarian blinked rapidly, his eyes barely able to make out anything past the wall of magical light.

"But such power can't be contained for long and it should be fired off in small bursts." Her hand fell back before flicking the wand forward, similar to how one might cast a fishing line. A ball of light propelled towards a hedge, only stopping when it plowed through a tangle of brambles. Piles of glowing ash drifted below sparking branches. Setarian's beak dropped wide open.

"See? So now you can stop —"

"Lady Lisha! What will the King say about this?"

She froze, turning slowly to face the palace gardener.

"Oh, gees. I'm Sorry! But—but don't worry," she laughed nervously, "I can fix this…" All of her previous anger all but vanished. Her paw rose into the air, releasing a beam of light at least a foot wide 100 feet into the air. It cut through any passing clouds; electricity bubbled between the fluffy masses. Setarian lowered his ears as the gardener, a sternly faced blue Pteri with hair in a bun and snugly fitting work clothes, twisted her beak to the side. The rake she held in her wings resembled talons.

Lisha sprinted towards the bush, waving Setarian closer. Before he even had the chance to move, the gardener kicked up some dirt, making him cough incessantly.

"Well, aren't you going too?"

Setarian pressed his beak together tightly, coughing as he did, but said nothing as he brushed chunks of filth to the ground. _As much as_ _I would love to kick you in the shins, gardener, that would only get Lisha in more trouble…_

Instead of retaliating, he used his anger energy to stamp closer to the broken hedges. Low mutters escaped his breath as he watched Lisha attempt to sew the branches back together. Neighboring bushes moved in to give an illusion of fullness. With the process slowing, Setarian eyes gravitated back towards the statue.

"I wonder who you could be…" he muttered as if in a trace.

"What's that, Serian?"

"Nothing."

The Eyrie could feel her touch against his back. He shivered. "Serian, I'm sorry for getting so angry before over something so silly…"

Silence hung over the two for a few seconds. Setarian rubbed his arm, suddenly feeling guilty. Small clumps of dirt fell to the ground around the Eyrie's feet. "Lisha, it was wrong of me to mock you."

The last branch slipped into place. After Lisha promised that nothing else would be bothered, the gardener muttered something about, "the courtyard being no place for children," and left to continue her work. Occasional glares shot from behind a particularly large topiary of King Skarl.

Setarian balled his left paw into a fist and pounded it to the ground when she would not respond, crushing the grass below. "I have no right to insult my teacher and superior." He gulped, feeling pressure well up within his throat when she approached to give him a hug. "I've seen better, though. I mean, plenty of Neopians can do magic!"

She stuck out her tongue, and stood up straight before they could make any contact. "Serian, you're a jerk."

He grinned wryly. "Always. But… in all seriousness, you proved me wrong this time. It probably won't happen again."

"That's what big sisters are for, right? You need someone around to pop that ego bubble of yours!"

With a flick of his tail and a huff, Setarian turned away from Lisha. He could hear her sighing.

"So… do you want to learn next?"

He turned back and flashed a mischievous smile, eyes twinkling like stars. "Anything is good with me if she's"—he motioned towards the gardener—"my first target."

"I don't think zapping the gardener would make the king very happy…" she attempted to keep a straight face. It wasn't all that convincing.

_Hah. Like I care about what that oaf says_…

Lisha bent over and placed a small bag drop to the ground. She rustled through it, and removed a small wooden wand. At its base was a hastily carved letter 'S'.

"It's for you."

Setarian rubbed the smooth surface and traced out letter's rough edges.

"Try to focus your attention—all of your energy—onto one spot. This wand should be relatively safe to use as it only stores little bits of power at any given time. Quick!" the Pteri's head was down. "Aim for this little spot of grass here."

The General could feel power surge up within his body as he gripped the wand. He stood upon his shaking hind legs, trying to balance. At first, nothing happened. It took all of his effort not to glance back at the angry gardener. Then, his magical energy started to materialize. But unlike Lisha's pure energy, inky black energy snaked about the wand. From the carved "S" a screen of darkness poured, causing the both of them to let out audible gasps. A burst of energy sent Setarian propelling into the air and his wand flew out of his paws in the other direction. The blast sent him sailing towards a stone turret. His wings flittered about uselessly as the wall grew nearer.

He prepared for impact. Oddly, when he stopped moving, he felt not even the slightest bit of pain.

Setarian's eyes cracked open to see a mass of soft, cloud-like material surrounding him. Lisha was breathing heavily; a stream of energy could be seen still pulsing about the wand's periphery.

"Both of you, out!" shouted the grumpy gardener, who now waved around the rake like a weapon. "I don't care if you helped to save Meridell, Lady Lisha. There is only so much one Neopian can take!"

As he lowered to the ground, Lisha's face came into view. There was an amalgam of worry, curiosity, and… fear?

She lowered him close enough to the ground, but he still fell a good foot to meet the manicured garden grass. Quick to ruffle his feathers and stand up on all fours, he tried to keep up with Lisha. She was speed-walking away, head tucked down and glasses hidden.

"It looks like I'm a pretty strong magic user as well…" the General started while the two of them scurried back into the castle. Just like the stone statue that greeted them as they arrived, Lisha would not respond.

"What? Surprised by my natural talent?" He puffed his feathers into the air, making him appear slightly larger, if not like an Eyrie that first took a bath and then was forced into the sun to dry. Each stride was deliberate and he held his head high. Maybe he could still make light of the situation.

"… Serian, stop."

Most of his feathers flattened down against his now slumped shoulders and back. She did not offer her paw this time and merely waved him forward when he stopped mid-stride.

_I got you in trouble, didn't I? Of course I would. Even when I try to change it backfires_.

The two of them managed to make it back to the door of Jeran's quarters. When no one answered on a knock, she opened the door and slammed it behind the General, who glanced back at the door in shock.

"That was no fluke, Serian." Her brow was furrowed. Setarian could feel the tenseness in the air and recoiled. "What are you hiding?"

The General could feel heat spreading throughout his body—especially by his face—and much of his fur, especially on the tail, stood up on end. A pounding sensation bombarded his chest.

"I-I… w-what do you mean?" He found it difficult to look her in the eyes.

She exhaled loudly. "I know magical rebound when I see it."

"Magical rebou—"

"Yes." Her voice became more distant, even mechanical. The frame of her glasses kept being shifted slightly after every couple of words. "According to a good deal of research on the subject, large bursts of power don't just appear—especially with such basic instruments. Someone cast a spell on you—a powerful one at that—and the energy you felt was likely a product of leftover magic looking for a place to escape. And power of _that _ size is usually reserved for some sort of transformation spell; if my hunch is correct, this spell was probably semi-permanent, perhaps even permanent in nature."

"T-t-transformation spell?" He tried to keep calm, but his stutter seemed an obvious give away.

iI'm finished…/i

"Yes." Her gaze froze on the Eyrie while the rest of her body remained completely motionless. The slightest of cracks penetrated her voice.

"Lisha…" Setarian lowered his head to the ground, paws shaking. A lump seemed to be competing for space in the General's throat. Each word seemed to further compromise his ability to speak. "E-everything before the day you and Jeran found me is just a blur now. You and Jeran have been far too kind to me and for that alone, I… I could never betray you—either of you."

A long silence penetrated the room. Setarian's breathing was short and slight.

"Promise me you're telling the truth, Serian." Her lip was quivering. "Please…please don't lie to me."

"I'm telling you the truth, Lisha. I swear it."

It almost looked as if her little eyes were scanning every fiber of his being for lies. They stopped a few times, causing more than a few heart beats to jump out of his chest.

"You're shaking."

"No, I—"

Her voice softened. "And I just scared you, didn't I?"

"Scared?! No, I was—"

"S-sorry for getting so worked up, Serian. I let my fantasies get the better of me." The Aisha's paw rubbed back and forth along her head. A few steps later, Setarian was in her arms and desperately trying to squirm away from the sudden affection. "Some big sister I am."

"You've been more than kind, Lisha," he said carefully in response, nearly freeing himself from her tight grip. "And in truth, you're wise to be cautious. I only hope you can learn to trust me."

iSince you don't quite believe me, do you? I see the skepticism written all over your face./i

Before Lisha could comment, the door crept opened. Jeran hesitated before entering, turning his head from side to side between the duo. Setarian managed to jump away from her clutches and pushed himself against a wall.

"Is everything alright?" The door shut. Jeran eyes were fluttering between half-open and closed, head nodding slightly. "Serian, are you… are you feeling sick again?"

The Eyrie's face looked flush and he struggled to keep his paws from knocking.

"Us?" said Lisha, "We were just talking about what it's like to be a knight!"

Setarian raised an eyebrow quizzically, too numb to react more.

"Were you now?" The tension felt in the room before seemed to melt away. He patted his face three times before bending over to rustle Lisha's yellow fur, which she returned with a crushing hug. A squeal could be heard as she was lifted off the ground and rocked from side to side. The girl faked her feelings so well. She almost seemed like a different Neopian now.

"Speaking of, Lisha, I couldn't be prouder! Today you have shown more courage than any knight I've ever known. Of course," he lifted her high into the air, causing her to squirm. "Few brave Neopians are airborne for this long, unless they're Pteris or something."

"But I'm not a Pteri."

"How about a Draik? A Shoyru?"

"No…"

"Guess not. Oh, wait!" he said with feigned realization, "I suppose you'd like to be let down now, right?"

"Yes, big brother…"

After a nod, the Lupe took care to place her gently upon his bed. The bed's coils bounced up and down when she touched its surface.

"Hey, Jeran," started Lisha, "why am I so brave?"

"Well," he bounded onto the bed, offering an arm to sling around Lisha's shoulders. The other he patted against the cloth blankets. Setarian shook his head decisively and turned away. "Serian, are you sure you—"

"I'm fine."

"Alright, then." Shrugging, he continued. " It's easy to hide when faced with a hard decision. Many, even knights, will run away from their fears instead of facing them head on." It seemed as if a ton of weights dropped on the General as both shoulders slumped over his arching back; his drooping eyes caught sight of a most intricate rug pattern. "But it takes true courage to stand up for what is right, even if that means challenging the King." Jeran's booming voice resounded throughout the room and echoed out of an open window. He cringed, lowering both paws to the side.

Glowing blue eyes shifted to the knight. A string of muted mumbles, including "The King himself, eh?" flitted about the room. "We all know how well _that_ almost ended for me…"

A light cough from Lisha seemed to snap Jeran out of a daze.

"Oh, right! Speaking of King Skarl, he said I could start training Serian tomorrow!"

"Really, Jeran?" blurted Lisha, to which he replied with a barely audible, 'yep.' The General rolled his eyes. He had since jumped onto a wooden chair and was scanning the titles of various books on the Knight's shelves. One was thin and crisply bound, and though covered in dust, had an eerily synthetic sheen. Written in small, oddly symmetrical letters were the words, 'Meridell, a History.'

_I_ _wonder how they glorify their thefts. If this has anything to do with our previous encounters, we're probably depicted as the monsters of their war…_

"Serian, you'll be great." The Eyrie _tch_ed a response. "But, I can't truly start training until I have the permission of my trainee. So, little guy, are you ready to fight?"

He blinked a few times, spinning around to see the two of them staring him down. "Wait, what?"

A few lines on the Lupe's face turned in and rushing air came out of his snout. Before he opened his mouth to speak, all traces of frustration melted away.

"Serian, would you like to train with me?" The Lupe spoke both slowly and firmly, but it was veiled by his gentleness. "I think with some dedication, you could be a great knight one day. If you are feeling up to it, we could even start today."

Lisha seemed bubbly enough, but there was a slightest inkling of strained tenseness in her shoulders and face. Whether or not she had truly calmed down was a mystery.

When the two army commanders locked eyes, her brother shrugged before holding his paw out as if making some sort of an offering. Setarian never looked away from his opponent as he drew his paw closer to Jeran's, receding multiple times before finally letting them interlock.

"Today it is. You have yourself a deal, Jeran."

* * *

The two, a former general of Kass and a knight, walked into a large enclosed field where bushes dotted the periphery. Lisha opted out and took back to her study. White brick paths lay between towering walls. Turrets scraped the sky. A wooden rack held a variety of weapons, ranging from dull bladed practice swords, to tightly sheathed live blades. Deep cuts lined the rickety wooden structure from what looked like giant claw marks.

"Must I wear these garments?" lamented Setarian as he walked onto the soft, squishy grass.

Jeran sighed, shaking his bright blue head slowly. The Lupe donned bronze plate armor with the Meridell logo blazing on his breastplate. A light breeze billowed through his blue fur, making it move in waves.

"I'm sorry, Serian, but if you wish to train with me, you are going to need some sort of protection." The Lupe patted the groaning Eyrie's head. "Don't be so glum. I'm sure the uniform will grow on you."

Serian snorted, but said nothing. His small, talonless paws tugged at dangling metal chain that hung loosely over his body. A bright red tunic rippled after each tug, displaying the Meridell logo like a waving flag. Worse, it smelt of musty potatoes and chunks of rotten chicken.

_I'd love to see you wearing our emblem, Jeran. Only then could you see how I feel. This is more than an issue of wearing some hand-me-down mail_…

"Now, Serian," said Jeran, breaking Setarian's concentration. The Eyrie raised an eyebrow, misery written all over his face. Jeran removed two wooden long swords from the rack, crossing them over each other while he spoke. "Before we begin, do you have any prior experience with long sword combat?"

Setarian almost blurted the words, "are you kidding?" but managed to keep his beak shut, nodding forcefully.

"Good!" the knight smiled, carefully palming the wooden sword over to Setarian's open paw. "This should go a lot quicker then."

Setarian grabbed the sword, gripping it tightly before swinging his right paw to the side.

"Ah! That's great, Serian! Keeping your posture solid is very important. Otherwise, your opponent can—"

"Easily knock you over," he interrupted, feeling antsy from being spoken down to, although the knight did not mean it as such. "In other words… you're an easy target if you can't deal with moderate amounts of force without falling to the ground."

Jeran blinked, nodding slowly with his lip out. "Wow, Serian. Yeah, that's correct. How about the Standing Gate Block?"

He scoffed. "The what? I've never heard of a technique with such a name."

"Really?" Jeran began calmly, tilting his head. "Well, okay then. Stand over there and hold your blade upwards as if blocking an aerial blow." Setarian did as instructed. The long sword, even pointed upwards, scarcely reached the height of the Lupe's neck. Jeran paced over to the Eyrie and lightly grabbed his sword paw, causing Setarian to flinch.

"What are you—"

"Calm down, little guy, just trying to help," he began, lightly twisting Setarian's paw. The sword now angled slightly downwards. Setarian broke away and jumped back with a gruff exhale. The sword pointed at an intermediate height, causing Jeran to say, "Lower than that. You have a tendency to keep your blade too high."

_What is he talking about? He holds his blade too low_.

Jeran signed when Setarian refused to budge. "Okay then. Guess I'll just show you what I mean. I'm going to make an attacking strike from above." Setarian looked skeptical. "Don't worry. I'll go slowly so you have plenty of time to block."

"Just get on with it, then," spat Setarian.

Jeran massaged his face, trying to his keep his expression neutral. "Sure, after an apology."

"I will do no such thing."

"You always seem so well-mannered when you're with Lisha," he mused, hurt in his eyes. His sword arm fell to the side. "Perhaps today is not a good day to train after all."

_Oh, for Kass' sake…_

Setarian grumbled under his breath as he milled about the grassy field. A barely audible "sorry" escaped from his beak.

"Shale gray, huh?" Jeran's face was unreadable.

Setarian shook his head in confusion.

"Your eyes. They're shale grey right now. Given how many times your eyes changed color since I've met you, guess that means you are sorry?"

Setarian steadied himself on two legs and gripped the sword tighter. "Something like that. It's not like I can control it." He shifted uncomfortably, reminded of the Darigans who so bluntly denounced him for such a trait. "But enough about that. You said you would train me. Let's see what you can do."

He lifted the sword again, brow raised. "Let's see indeed."


End file.
